News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1887-10-13

| tated, was using her WOmanly ats Il
reassure him.
cit is nothing, Phil-a mere scratch
"a sting. A great spider, I think. The
creature nipped me and leaped away be
fore [ could well see what it was. All
Signor Bardinelli, is it you? "Oh, Phi
WHAT"
Pale and terrified she lay upon the
breast of her husband, who, li1id a:
death, only held her closely, making ne
effort to restrain the italian, who had
without ceremony, seized upon the
brides hand, upon one finger of which
was appearing faint line of discOlora
ton, marking the course of the enven
omed sting she had received. The one
word spoken, as he applied his lips il
suction to the wound, had sent deadly
chill to the bridegroom's ear.
"Tarantula!'
No other word was spoken. Darby
knew what meant the drop or two OF
greenish, viscous liquid which the TIA
liam once or twice elected from his lips,
each time returning in mad haste to his
task of peril. Darby's bride knew, too,
what signified Bardinelli's desperate
earmestness, as we'll as she comprehended
the threatening of danger to herself in
the vertigo and shivering already creep
ing over her. But neither of these
thought of the risk Bardinelli was haz-
arding; Bardinelli himself did not give
4 thought to the matter, till the possible
result of his daring came to him in q
fash of consciousness. An eager glance,
convincing him of the fact that the
poison was being abated in the veins of
his wildom pupil revealed to him, be-
sides, feck of blood close to the pune
ture in the dainty hand over which he
had been glOating. The blood, he knew,
was from a wound in his own lip. His
teeth had nearly met through it as he
lay in hiding there beyond the fern
mound.
But the virus that was creeping from
her veins into his WAS as the wine of life
to him in comparison with the venom of
jealousy that had maddened him, as he
lay there watching the welded lovers,
reveling in their stolen bliss.
"It is done, he said presently, lifting
flushed face from his odd work.
''There remains, Signor Darby, but
the drop or two of poison taken up by
the blood before I could get to her.
"The drop or two taken up by her
blood Heaven have mercy, is there
no antidote %
Bardinelli smiled.
"Speak man! There must be no i'm
possible here"
"There shallbe no impossible. Signor,
if Bardinelli's strength faint not" the
italian quietly said, .sfor tarantism, in
my land, there are the tarantella
Dances
81 know-I remember" cried Darby.
cit is music, music she must have;
and you-you Bardinelli-"
81 know the music-yes. When the
poison works in her nerves and brain
she will move; and II will play the
death dance for her. Come, Signor Oar.
by, let me carry her; [ can best place
her so that the faintest notes may stir
her dumbed senses"
Half frantic with agony Darby made
no protest, but yielded her to the Ital-
ian. Was not the priceless life at his
mercy! Had he asked for the heart in
his bosom he would not have wished to
say nay. Fragile of build though he
was, Bardineli caught up the lovely
burden surrendered to him, and bore
her, with the strength and speed of an
Dtth 10 Illc RIitEe anu ldIlSUEOuS
perfumes of the ball room.
''Her life is mine ~ he muttered, in
his half delirious Joy, as he felt the
pulsations of her heart answering to the
wild thrObbings of the poison-charged
arteries of his breast.
Awe-stricken, the wedding jewellers
cleared the floor of the dance hall.
There We're rapid questionings and agi-
tated replies; there We're groans here
and there and sobs half frepressed. Then
there was silence as of the sepuIchre
in the garish house. Through this 81
lence stole the first weird notes of Bar
dinelli's Dance of Death.
No one looked at the musician; every
eye was fastened on the bride of Phil
ander Darby. She lay upon the wine
velvet of the divan, white and rigid:
about her trailed the satin and lace
and orange flowers of her bridal at
tire.
Bardinells violin was giving forth
quicker strains. So fantastic were the
chords, now plaintive and imploring,
now full of a mad energy, anon drop
ping into fathomless depths of pathos,
itseemed as though the player were
improvising the airs, telling to the still
figure upon the couch the tale of a life
noble in its dreams and aspirations,
tragic in its failures. Yet through the
wondrous harmony dropped ever, clear
and pure as a shower of pearls, the
notes of the Rhythmic tarantella waltz
The call to movement reached the
locked senses of the dreamer. She
moved; she arose to her feet; she glided
over the floor. Her movements were
the strains of Bardinelli's violin; they
were those Of the Graces. Her face was
the frozen one of the doomed Iphigenia
Upon the silence of the room the Ital-
ian's medley wrought like magic. The
wedding guests swayed hither and
thlther III grotesque mimicry of the
dream dancer upon the polished floor.
The breeze of the night waited the mys-
teal strains out through the open case
ments, and bore them past wondering
wayfarers upward to the empyrean to
sweep the confines of other realms of
mystery.
Bardinelli was lending all the cunning
of his hand to rouse the suspended fac
ulties of his beloved pupil. The heavy
lids yelling her vision were slowly
raised: surrounding objects were once
more photographed upon the re-
tina of the eye; the tinge of life was